


Tuesdays in Greenwood

by Lawdie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bodyguard!Bard, M/M, PrimeMinister!Thranduil, That's it, Tilda loves Toy Story, and the Durinsons, mentions of Legolas - Freeform, that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawdie/pseuds/Lawdie
Summary: Thranduil Oropherion doesn't notice his face until the day the man saves his life.





	1. Chapter 1

Thranduil Oropherion doesn’t notice the man’s face until the day he saves his life. The hair that was usually meticulously brushed and held back falls in front of his eyes, half obscuring this newly acquired eye candy. “Andy secured. Take care of the target,” his bodyguard barks out, clipped, into his earpiece. His voice isn’t quite what Thranduil expected from the man. He sounds younger than he looks. Thranduil is vaguely aware of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It’s slowed down time and he takes it as a blessing. He studies the man who was, until a moment ago, draped over him like a blanket. “Still all there, sir?” Thranduil takes a moment to collect himself. Can’t be caught unawares, or in appreciation. 

“‘Andy’?” he asks, trying not to huff in the come down from endorphins. The man rolls back onto his feet and pushes his hair out of his face. Thranduil is greeted by what is perhaps the second most beautiful sight in his life. (It was hard to top Legolas’ birth.) Straightening out his suit, his bodyguard sports a small grin. He is all sleek lines and hooded concern. It’s doing something to Thranduil. He feels very distant at the moment. Like all of this is happening to someone else as he watches from above. It takes him a minute to realize he’s upright again.

“You don’t think ‘Prime Minister Thranduil Oropherion’ is a mouthful?” It’s a testament to how shaken he is when all Prime Minister Thranduil Oropherion can do is bore into the man’s eyes, mind whirling at the word ‘mouthful’. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s get you a blanket.” In any other situation, Thranduil would balk. But the man now has an arm around his waist and he’d be damned to fight against it. He frowns then. He is happy to be led away, preoccupied with his train of thought currently traveling a million miles a minute.

The world, post assassination attempt number one, is chaotic and noisy. Thranduil realizes that’s what the buzz under his skin is. Having been moved to a nearby safe haven, it’s all he can do to not bury his head in his hands. He accepts the obnoxiously orange blanket and does his best to become one with it. 

“Woody is secured. Keep me updated. Do not lose them.” Thranduil looks up as the security detail from earlier falls into the seat next to him. His hair is thrown up in a messy bun, but everything else about him looks intentional. He pockets a phone and looks forward at the walls of the room they are in.

“Legolas is safe. He was with the Durinsons. President Thorin has his men escorting them here as we speak.” The prime minister shuddered. In all his fear, the fate of his only son wasn’t in question. Until now. A new fear grips him. His head does sink into his palms now.

He feels a pressure on his back. It moves up and down in slow, methodical sweeps. 

“I have three children, Your Excellency. Two girls and a boy.” Thranduil hopes the detail doesn’t interpret his groan for what it is: of course he’s straight. “They are all I have.” They quiet, then. The hand doesn’t stop moving. He clears his throat and continues. 

“For their sake, sometimes the best you can do is survive.”

Thranduil can’t be assed to speak. He feels like a dick for only being concerned about his. He leans further forward before straightening at a glacial pace. There’s still a hand on his back and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t voice his thanks.

“What’s your name?” is what comes out instead. The detail blinks and smiles slowly, almost shy. 

“Bard Bowman, at your service.” 

“Thank you, Bard. You saved my life.” 

“All in a days work, Andy.” Thranduil darkens. Bard bays out a laugh. 

“Don’t think I didn’t catch Legolas’ code name.” Bard leans back into the chair, taking his hand from Thranduil’s back.

“My youngest is 5, sir. It’s her favorite movie.” He shrugs his shoulders, like that’s all there is to it. Thranduil huffs a laugh and leans back into his chair, mirroring Bard. The pandemonium of the day has finally started to ebb. The threat taken care of. Thranduil feels incredibly old. 

“Woody should be here in another two hours or so. Can I get you anything?”

“I can’t believe that name. I can’t believe I almost died. I can’t believe this.” Bard looks at him, although Thranduil’s eyes are closed. 

“Do I need to get you something?” Bard asks, something steeling in his voice. Thranduil opens his eyes and examines the room they are sat in. High vaulted ceilings, no windows, a leather couch and lounges behind him. The carpet underneath him is brown and worn. He starts to take off his shoes, wanting to feel the threads between his toes, and remembers he needs to respond.

“Unless you’d like to be stress relief in a very different way, I’m quite all right, Mr. Bowman.” Thranduil blames his candidness on the fact that he almost died today. He feels entitled.

He had kept his eyes focused on his feet and doesn’t look up until sleek black shoes enter his field of vision. Bard stands before him, hands in pockets. Thranduil doesn’t blush. The two size each other up and Bard smiles, bigger and a little frayed at the edges. 

“Any other day, Your Excellency. Any other day, and we’d be lost to the world.” 

Thranduil’s kind of stunned. He hadn’t really expected the man to accept his proposal in any form. Granted, this was irrefutably a refusal. Bard reaches forward and takes a lock of Thranduil’s hair between his fingers. 

“Wait for your son. Tell him you love him. Get your head on right, and then come find me.” Bard raises the hair to his lips and then lets it fall. Thranduil notices he’s a little rosy in the face for all his poise. Bard steps away and walks toward the door. As the detail lets himself out, Thranduil slowly smiles. All things considered, he’s had worse Tuesdays.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, when shit hits the fan, Bard Bowman is prepared. It’s his job to be prepared. He tackles the Prime Minister to the ground. More gunshots ring out, but they all miss their intended mark. Bard feels a cool spread through his veins. Being the calm during the storm is something he’s proud of. He’s efficient to a point and the part of his brain that isn’t his job switches off. Orders are given, and he’s got time now to focus all of that cool mentality on his charge. 

Thranduil Oropherion is of a different kind. His aloof and proud demeanor didn’t win him brownie points in the elections, but after attaining office he has proven a worthy and intelligent leader. A quick once over doesn’t reveal any grievous physical wounds. The look in his eyes is a different story.

Trying to give the man something to focus on, Bard speaks softly and lightly.

“Still all there, sir?” The PM blinks once and makes eye contact with him. 

“‘Andy’?” The man’s voice is the same measured pace he always speaks in. But Bard can all but see the cranks and gears ticking away in his charge’s head. He rolls off of him in one fluid motion and brushes his hair out of his face. Trying to calm the man down and also get him into a safe zone is at the top of Bard’s priorities. So, he grins and bites back as he quickly pulls the man upright. The name ‘Thranduil Oropherion’ had entirely too many vowels to begin with. 

Moving quickly, he ushers the PM forward with an arm around his waist and chatter in his ear from his other operatives dealing with the threat. With haste, Bard guides Thranduil to a nearby safe house, talking at him. He doubts the man is hearing any of what he’s saying.

Fifteen minutes have passed since the initial gunfire. Thranduil Oropherion is sitting in a room underground and entirely inaccessible from the outside world. Before making any phone calls, Bard makes sure the man has a blanket. Appearances be damned, there was science behind shock blankets. Thranduil takes it from him, not really looking at him. There’s a slight tremor in his hand. 

The other half of his brain not entirely associated with work starts to boot up. He is tempted to take the man’s hand and hold it. But he has calls to make and a professional conduct to uphold. He was not allowed to like this man right now. A year ago, when Bard had taken the job, it was purely to put food on the table- to provide for his struggling family. By the end of the first month, he may have had a few other reasons for showing up a little early everyday.

Glancing over at one of the reasons, Bard took in Thranduil’s creased brow. Whether or not he was aware of it, the man was curling in on himself. Bard made all of the contact he needed and then sat down next to the PM. Time to do some damage control.

“Legolas is safe. He was with the Durinsons. President Thorin has his men escorting them here as we speak.” Bard watches as Thranduil freezes and curls further in, his head falling into his hands. He tries to breathe deeply. It’s a sorry attempt. Bard makes the decision in a split second, and he’ll later rationalize it was the work part of his brain reacting to the situation. He places his hand in the center of Thranduil’s back. He’s slow about moving, giving the man time to pull away. When he hears the PM let out the breath he was holding, Bard knows he made the right decision. He soothes the man like he would Tilda after a nightmare. He spins circles into his back and feels the PM loosen with each turn. He finds the man breathing in time with his ministrations. It gives him some peace.

Bard quietly speaks of his children and offers small platitudes, hoping to ease some of Thranduil’s mental anguish. 

After another moment, Thranduil stills. He straightens slowly and turns to look directly at Bard. The security detail knows he looks worse for wear, but Thranduil looks at him with nothing but gratitude; appearances be damned, indeed. 

“What is your name?”

Bard isn’t offended Thranduil doesn’t know him. In fact, it’s a compliment. He’s exists to be, not to be known. But Bard can’t stop the smile that lifts his face up.

“Bard Bowman, at your service.” 

“Thank you, Bard. You saved my life.” 

“All in a days work, Andy.” Bard can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him as the icy glare that Thranduil Oropherion’s known for is directed solely at him. As the man begins to come back into his personality, Bard withdraws his hand. He doesn’t need to take any unnecessary risks. Thranduil points out the codenames that Tilda had handpicked herself. Bard tries not to let it show how much he enjoys Thranduil’s obvious distaste. The man chuckles something weak and leans back into his chair. 

“Woody should be here in another two hours or so. Can I get you anything?” Bard asks, knowing their time together like this is close to ending. He hates that he’s already beginning to miss it. Before he can blink, Thranduil is curling in on himself once more, the aftershocks of adrenaline and fear rocking him agonizingly.

“Do I need to get you something?” 

Bard doesn’t really know what he’s offering when he asks that. He’s just trying to keep the man from going under. 

“Unless you’d like to be stress relief in a very different way, I’m quite all right, Mr. Bowman.” Bard hardly moves as the other busies himself with his shoes. The tetchiness that had wound up inside the PM receded. Something in the way he had emphasized the word ‘very’ put Bard’s nerves on end. So, like any red-blooded man, Bard put his nerves to action. 

Standing in front of the man he both admired and respected, part of him hates that he rejects his offer. In any other situation, oh Gods, he’d be willingly drowned in him. And Bard tells him so. He makes due with what he has. 

Taking a length of the sat man’s long hair, he draws it to his lips and kisses it. It’s the look in Thranduil’s eyes, the clear pleasant surprise and wonder, that has his brain catching up to his body. 

Gods, he just propositioned the Prime Minister. After the Prime Minister propositioned him. His cheeks grew warm and he smiled, hoping for the best. He leaves then, not wanting to make any more declarations of intent. As the door clicks closed behind him, he grins childishly thinking of what could be. All in all, he decides, a pretty good Tuesday.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes three weeks before Thranduil finds him. It wasn’t like he was hiding, but if Bard clung to the shadows more often than not it wasn’t anybody’s business but his own. 

Assassination attempts ignored, it had been a relatively quiet election year. With the final fundraiser before Election Day finished, Bard retired to his temporary home on the 19th floor of the ritzy hotel it was being hosted in. 

Bard loosens his tie and happily falls down into the chair of his hotel room. The TV drones on in some inane attempt to entice him, but Bard is too far-gone to appreciate anything beyond getting out of his suit. He hears the door open and is confused, but not worried. A threat wouldn’t be so obvious. He takes off his jacket and begins unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Beorn, please tell me this isn’t another effort to get me out, I promise you that’s the last thing I-” He turns to the door. That is not Beorn standing there, looking like a moving work of art. The prime minister’s hair is down in a departure from his normal braided plaits. Bard finds himself speechless.

“-need.”

Almost.

“This is me finding you,” is all Thranduil says before he’s upon him with a speed Bard knew the man possessed but had never witnessed. The taller man leans down in front of Bard pulling his head forward until they’re breathing each other’s air. Bard forgets what he was doing before this. His hands find purchase on Thranduil’s neck. 

They kiss and Bard is awake. He doesn’t know how long they stay there and can’t be bothered to guess. He moves to stand up and is guided forward, a hand on his hip and neck. They move towards the bed and Bard groans. God, he wants this. But it’s been an eighteen-hour day. 

He’s pushed down onto lush blankets and pillows and blinks.

“I am going to ravish you in the morning.”

Bard remembers he wasn’t the only one who had been awake eighteen hours ago. He finds himself laughing roughly as he studies the way Thranduil’s hair falls, bracketing the two of them.

“I’m holding you to that, Your Excellency-” The PM cuts him off with a sloppy kiss, hands dipping lower and under his untucked shirt. Breaking it off with a truly obscene sound, Thranduil collapses on top of Bard. 

“Do you know how hard it has been to find you?” Thranduil sounds impossibly fond, and maybe a little irritated.

“I may have been embarrassed,” Bard finds himself admitting. 

“After all of that bravado?”

“I came on to the previously conservative, no way in hell is he attracted to men Prime Minister of Greenwood. Excuse me for feeling a little unsure.” Thranduil bites down gently on Bards neck and is rewarded with a gasp. 

“What gave you that idea, Bowman? Besides, I propositioned you first,” says the man working over the juncture of Bard’s neck and shoulder.

Bard is going insane. There’s no conceivable way Thranduil Oropherion is giving him a hickey in his bed at two in the morning on a Tuesday. No, Wednesday. Before Thranduil can go any further, Bard rolls them over. He has a knee between his legs and a lot of neck in his face. He can’t see Thranduil’s at the moment, but he imagines him smiling. 

“Just five minutes. Give me five minutes,” Bard pleads, feeling punch drunk and beyond exhausted. 

“Nothing more,” Thranduil concedes, a yawn in his voice. As Bard quickly drifts away, he feels an arm secure itself around his waist. He sleeps deeply and doesn’t dream.

Bard wakes up hours later and finds Thranduil breathing slowly next to him. Both had shifted in their sleep, the taller on his stomach with an arm still draped over Bard’s waist. He examines the situation he’s in. He has no political background, but it’s not like it would matter much in this day and age. But he wonders about this thing that he’s pursuing. Before he can fall too far down the rabbit hole, Bard realizes that Thranduil is moving. 

“It’s too early for internal turmoil, Bard Bowman.”

“Have you something to take my mind off of things?” Bard asks, voice rough with sleep. Thranduil’s smile is malevolent. 

“Nothing too stressful, I assure you.”

Hours later, the sun full in the sky, Bard collapses on top of the Prime Minister, legs a little shaky, breath coming out in gasps. Thranduil’s hair is sticking to his forehead and tangles where Bard has it fisted in his hand. The flush of exertion paints a pretty picture across Thranduil’s face and chest.

“We should do that, ah,” Thranduil bites his lip, pulling Bard down for a kiss, “again.” 

“Duly noted,” Thranduil murmurs, pupils blown wide and a little unfocused. Bard laughs and rolls off of the man. Thranduil pulls the sheets up around the two of them and moves Bard closer to his side, the PM’s broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world.

All at once a cacophony of sounds can be heard approaching the door to Bard’s hotel room. The detail tenses and looks quickly at Thranduil.

“How do you feel about a good scandal, Mr. Bowman?” Bard pales slightly.

“The election-” 

“Only amongst my colleagues for now, I assure you.” Before Thranduil can continue to assure him, the door flies open, revealing a mixture of people all manner of sizes, all speaking at once. 

“If he’s in here-”

“No way he’s that much of a prude-”

“I’ve got twenty gold riding on this-”

And it’s like they all see the occupants of the bed at once. For one crystallizing moment it’s silent. In an instant, it’s shattered. 

“Oh Mahal, he’s naked-”

“Is that the bodyguard who-”

“Pay up, pay up!”

Bard laughs weakly and pulls the covers over his head. Still, Thranduil finds him and kisses him softly.

Not too bad a start of a Wednesday.


End file.
